


French Appetites

by OllyJay



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes, Post-Season/Series 03, Reunion, Unexpected marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllyJay/pseuds/OllyJay
Summary: Last year atMiss Fisher Conthere was a creative writing session run by two of the amazing writers from this fandom, Sarahtoo and CollingwoodGirl ❤️❤️❤️ They handed out a series of prompts and asked us to write something. The prologue is what I wrote at that session and this fic is where it took me.Jack follows Phryne to London as requested but arrives to find things are not exactly as he hoped. (Hey, what can I say - it's a reunion fic - LOL)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks as always to solitary_cyclist for reviewing and correcting and patience ❤️❤️❤️

Prologue

The huge appetite of the French never failed to astound her, she thought, as she gazed out the café window at a seemingly endless flow of people. Their appetite for life, for adventure, for love seemed to reflect back, making her world seem a mere shadow. She bent her head, dark hair falling like wings either side and turned another page in the magazine she wasn’t reading.

“My love,” said a voice from beside her. She angled her head to allow him to kiss her cheek before he sat in the chair opposite. She did not raise her eyes from the magazine where her fingers played along the edge of the brightly coloured page. “Shall I order us breakfast?” he enquired, though his arm was already in the air to attract the waiter.

She didn’t bother to respond, he would do as he pleased, or not. Her opinion was not required. It was, she thought, a very different world from the one she had known. She turned another page, trying not to notice the slight blurring of her vision.

“I was thinking we could walk along the river later, the light is so beautiful this time of year…”

She paid no heed as he spoke. She was merely a pretty bauble on his arm to display to his friends and enemies alike. That was her role and she was surprisingly good at it. She turned another page.


	2. Chapter 2

He trudged down the gangplank feeling weary to the core. Unlike Lady Detectives, police detectives could not just disappear to the other side of the world overnight and his simple decision had quickly turned into a never-ending nightmare of things that required sorting. It was two months before he had left the warmth of a Melbourne spring to travel six weeks to the damp chill of an English winter.

She wasn’t there to meet him at the grey docks, so alone he made his way to the family’s London abode, arriving on a night when the wind blew so cold only the mad were abroad. She wasn’t there either, so he sought refuge in a hostel that was only marginally warmer than sleeping in a hedgerow. Things had gone downhill from there.

The next day her father, on coming to the door to sort out the fracas that was disturbing his breakfast, had stared at him uncomprehending. “Inspector Robinson? What are you doing here?”

“I called last night, asking for Phryne?”

“What on earth has she done now?” he asked, surprised.

Jack gaped at him - was it possible he had forgotten the kiss he had witnessed that day, at the field?

Suddenly the Baron's face rearranged into sympathy, “Oh no… you didn’t think?”

Jack felt his heart sink.

“Jack, I’m sure she didn’t mean to mislead you, but you’re a man of the world, you can see what she’s like.” The pity in his eyes was almost too much, “I’m sorry, lad but she’s larking around Europe with some old friends, has been since we got here.”

“Did she leave a message?”

“No. She hasn’t mentioned you at all and… well… from what I’ve seen, I doubt she's even thought of you.”

“Thank you, Baron.” Jack put his fedora back on his head, spun round and walked into the brewing snowstorm.

The Baron stood on the doorstep hoping he had seen the last of him. The fewer reminders there were of the whole embarrassing affair in Melbourne the better. Hopefully, the love struck fool would be on a ship back to the colonies in a couple of days.

*****

Jack lay on the lumpy uncomfortable bed wondering how many new flea bites he was acquiring as he stared at the large damp patch on the ceiling above him. It had occurred to him that the Baron might not be telling him the entire truth. He had already decided, having come so far, he would not leave before he spoke to her. The Barron’s gibe about her adventures with other men had stung but was, at the same time, not unexpected.

He sat up. He was a policeman and he had a suspect to find. He stood up and put on his jacket and hat – time to make a start. His first stop was Guy and Isabella Stanley’s townhouse in central London. He stood uncomfortably in the foyer after sending in his card. He wasn’t sure if either of them would recall the policeman from Australia. The butler returned and led him into the reception room.

“Detective Inspector Robinson,” the solemn gentleman announced to the large room currently occupied by two people cuddling on a settee.

“Jack!” Guy stood immediately, holding his hand out.

Jack shook it and acknowledged Isabella’s graceful dip of her head.

“Take a seat,” Phryne’s cousin said warmly.

“Thank you,” Jack made himself comfortable in an armchair.

Isabella gazed at him, he looked… sad. She found it added rather than detracted from his allure. She rather liked Phryne’s policeman. It helped that he was so absolutely delicious.

“I wondered,” Jack addressed Guy, “whether you know where Phryne is?”

“Of course,” Guy looked surprised. “Didn’t she tell you?”

Isabella patted her husband’s arm, “Obviously not, darling, otherwise he wouldn’t ask.” Guy leant in and kissed her proudly.

Jack tilted his head in enquiry.

“She’s in Monte Car…” Guy started.

“No, she’s in Paris… “ Isabella corrected him.

Guy looked at her, “Are you sure, I thought that was Weston?”

Isabella pinched his arm. “She’s with Weston, you must remember they met at that party.”

Guy grinned, “You’re right! She went home with him that…” he stopped abruptly, “Though I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything.”

Isabella raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “I’m fairly sure that going home with a man means at least one thing. It’s not as though she didn’t have anywhere to sleep.”

Jack stood up. “Thank you, would you have any contact details? Perhaps a phone number?”

Guy stood too, “No. I expect she’s trying to be discreet, what with the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Jack queried.

“Weston, he’s getting married in three days time. I imagine it’s still compulsory for the groom to make an appearance at these things,” Guy mused.

He walked Jack towards the door, stopping to pick up an invitation on the hall stand. “Here, take this. We have no intention of attending. Weston is a nice enough fellow but not quite to our taste.”

Jack turned it over in his hands, it looked expensive. Unsurprisingly, he recognised neither name.

Isabella, who had wandered out behind them, considered Jack closely before turning to the butler. “Stevens, could you fetch a set of evening wear from Mr Guy’s wardrobe please?” She tilted her head, thinking, “And the blue coat? It’ll match your fedora,” she assured Jack. He stared, confused. “If you’re planning to impersonate my husband, you are not doing it dressed like that.”

“Do you think it's worth the effort?” he asked.

Really, she thought, he looked so pretty when he was upset. She shrugged. “I'm sure I have absolutely no idea.”

Jack nodded, putting on his coat and hat, making to leave. There seemed little point in doing anything else. “Thank you, again. I appreciate…”

She sighed, what a shame - even his good looks didn't extend to utterly devastated. “He’s handsome enough but there's nothing special about Weston. I can’t imagine why Phryne even bothered, especially as she’s in love with you.”

Jack’s eyes widened. Even Guy was surprised.

“What?” she said to the stunned men, “Really? Neither of you noticed? How strange.” That’s better, she thought as she sauntered away, ‘hopeful’ was almost as attractive as ‘sad’.

*****

Jack stood on the footpath across from the church; he had no intention of attending the ceremony but he had thought he might see her amongst the guests. She had not shown up, which was, in the circumstances, probably for the best. It was after all the bride’s big moment. The stragglers were being herded into the church and he was about to leave when the lady in question stepped out from a chauffeur driven car, veil already in place.

There were three things that struck him. Firstly, that she had eschewed the custom of arriving late. Secondly that, even though her face and hair was obscured by the ornate veil, she moved with a grace and elegance that spoke of an attractive, confident woman. And thirdly, that she was completely alone. Attended by neither father nor bridesmaids, she competently arranged her train, settled her bouquet and perfected her posture before moving to the church door. Jack admired her composure. He had no idea what type of man Weston was but he hoped that he deserved such a woman.

He spent the hours before the reception wandering around Paree not feeling particularly gay.

*****

That evening he slipped into the party late, mingling with the large crowd for hours and failing to find her. When the flow of alcohol had produced a level of raucous behaviour he recognised from the Friday night cells he gave up. He found himself walking aimlessly through endless corridors, coat and hat in hand, trying to find a way out. It occurred to him this was the perfect metaphor for his life at the moment. Suddenly, he was in a foyer with an ornate stairwell at one end and open double doors leading to the driveway at the other.

Phryne, at the bottom of the stairs with her back to him, was talking to a man he now recognised as Weston. They were alone. Well, except for Jack who they had yet to notice. She looked wonderful, in a figure fitting, sleeveless dress that fell gracefully to the floor, with delicate beadwork around the bodice. Her arms were graceful in elegant white satin gloves that rose well beyond her elbows. Her hair was ornately dressed with pearls and sparkling stones. If he had one criticism it would be that, at least as he understood it, white was a colour only the bride…

Jack immediately headed through the open doors.

Sensing movement behind her Phryne turned to see a figure in a familiar fedora already down the steps and striding away. Unfortunately, as she attempted to follow him, she discovered the dress she was wearing was not designed for chasing men down driveways ornamented with animal-shaped hedges.

“Jack!” she called after the fast disappearing figure. “Please? Wait.”

He slowed down and then came to a stop. But he did not turn and even as she drew up beside him he would not look at her.

“Miss Fis… Mrs Weston,” his voice was stilted and formal.

“Jack, where are you going?”

“You should go back inside,” he said gruffly, looking back towards the open doors. “It’s cold out here and your husband is standing on the steps staring at us.”

“Don't be silly,” she leaned in to kiss him, over balancing when he jerked away at the last moment. “Jack?”

“What are you doing?” he was shocked.

“What? I’m trying to kiss the man that I’ve missed, the man I’m in love with.”

Jack stared aghast, he’d dreamt of hearing these words. But now? When she had chosen someone else? He could literally feel his heart breaking. He walked away. This time when she called out, he kept walking.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was wandering aimlessly. Again. It seemed to be his new thing.

He had thought of going into one of the cafes but they all seemed too bright, too full of life and laughter for the kind of drinking he was interested in. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to go back to stare at the ceiling of his hotel room, either. So he walked. Barely conscious of the evening crowds moving gaily around him.

“I say,” Weston said as he fell into step beside him, “she’s awfully worried about you, you know.”

Jack threw a quick glance at her husband. He seemed a good enough bloke, he tried not to hate him. “She needn't be. Worse things happen at sea.”

“Do they?” he sounded concerned, “I’ve never been keen on the sea.”

Jack stopped walking and stared at him. “It's a saying.”

“Oh, is it?” Weston looked relieved. “Good-o.”

Jack started walking again. Weston joined him. Jack sighed, it was hard to imagine a more uncomfortable situation.

Weston on the other hand seemed perfectly at ease. “Have you been to Paris before?” he enquired politely.

“During the war.” Jack’s answer was curt.

“Oh, sorry. I should have realised.”

Jack looked at him again, noticing for the first time how young he was, maybe only a few years older than Collins. Lucky her, he thought bitterly, she has her very own puppy now.

“Have you known her long?” asked Weston, clearly determined to have a conversation.

Jack ignored him, hoping he would take the hint and go away, though experience told him Weston was the sort of man that needed things spelled out to him. And even then, you would need to point him in the right direction.

“I’ve only known her for a couple of weeks,” Weston babbled on happily. “Extraordinary woman, never met anyone like her.”

Great, thought Jack, he’s not even an old friend. Two years it took me to kiss her properly, and he managed to get her to accept his proposal in less than a week. He decided to cut the crap and just hate him. It was unlikely he could feel any worse than he did right now.

“Wonderful to have a woman like that in love with you,” Weston said casually.

Well fancy that, thought Jack, turns out he could feel worse.

“Anyhoo, do you think we can stop walking now?” Weston asked.

“I never asked for your company.” Jack pointed out.

“Absolutely, completely understand, but...” Weston glanced over his shoulder, “...you’re going rather fast and Phryne hasn’t got quite the right shoes on.”

Jack spun round. She was about 20 feet behind them, still in her wedding finery, though now at least she had a long white fur coat on. He turned on Weston, “Why the hell have you brought her out here with you? It’s bloody freezing.”

Weston stepped back in the face of his anger. “It’s Phryne,” he said, “she’s not really interested in anyone else’s opinion. Anyway, she wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t run away earlier.”

Jack snarled at him. Weston stepped back even further.

Phryne, who had caught them up, lay a hand on Jack’s arm. “Don’t take it out on him, this is my fault, be angry at me.”

Weston had, rather wisely, stepped behind Phryne and was looking warily at Jack.

“I am angry with you!” Jack had had enough. “First you tell me to come after you, then when I cross half the globe to get here I have to track you around Europe only to find you’ve taken up with,” he waved his hand dismissively at Weston. “But that’s not enough. No, just to completely destroy me, you tell me - whilst you’re in your bloody wedding dress - that you love me. Then you send your _husband_ ,” the amount of sarcasm he put into that word was legendary, “to find me.”

Jack was pacing, a sure sign of his frustration. “I do not want to go walking with the man you chose over me. Why would I want to spend time with the man you are going to be with tonight, tomorrow and every day after that? None of this makes any sense - am I the only one who can see that none of this makes any sense?” He stopped and took a breath, firstly to calm himself and secondly because he felt rather faint. “Please, Phryne,” he begged, “just leave me alone.”

It was obvious she had no intention of doing anything of the sort. “Well, if you’re quite done with the amateur dramatics, you might be interested to know I’m angry too.” She sounded it. “I’m angry that you think I’d be so flighty as to encourage you to come all this way just to take up with the first fool that crossed my path.” She glanced at Weston, who was attempting to sidle away to give them more privacy on the busy public footpath. “Sorry, Wes, no offense intended.”

“None, taken,” he assured her.

“Is that really what you think of me, Jack? That I’ll jump into bed with any man? Do you think me that insincere in my affections?”

Jack looked at her in utter disbelief. “Phryne, this isn't just a tumble with a stranger in a convenient haystack. You’ve actually married this man.”

She winced. “Well, yes… there is that,” she conceded.

The three of them stood in awkward silence on the footpath as people stepped around them.

Eventually she spoke again, “I’m sorry. This isn’t the reunion I was hoping for. I should never have taken this case.”

He sighed, yelling in the middle of a public street wasn't going to solve anything and might perhaps get them all arrested. “I didn’t come all this way to argue. Let’s just leave it, I’m going back to Melbourne…” he said in a much more reasonable, though infinitely sadder tone. He moved to walk away before his brain processed her last words and he stopped abruptly. “Hang on, what case?”

“The reason for all this nonsense,” she grabbed a handful of wedding dress, tugging at it. “Wes is my client.”

Jack looked at her dumbstruck.

“Didn’t father explain?”

Jack looked at her confused, “He told me you were in Europe visiting ‘old friends’ and had been since you arrived.”

“I should have known better than to trust him! Did he at least arrange for someone to pick you up from the docks?” One look at his face gave her the answer. “Jack. I am so sorry. This must look awful!”

“It does, or...” Jack corrected himself hopefully, "it did."

Phryne decided to speak quickly whilst he looked open to persuasion. “Wes and I met a few weeks ago. He told me he’d fallen for and proposed to a young lady who was not all she seemed. He had witnessed his fiancee in compromising circumstances with her ‘brother’ but was unsure how to proceed. We talked, I had a friend make some enquiries on the two parties involved, and an international scam involving extortion, missing jewels and broken hearts was uncovered. I questioned the young lady but she would not give up the names of her associates. The easiest option seemed for the planned wedding to proceed and for her guests to be rounded up by the French police.”

Jack glanced at Weston, who was nodding so enthusiastically there was a very real chance his head would fall off. “Are you saying this is all part of a case?”

“Absolutely,” replied Phryne and Weston in unison. Phryne continued, “In her clothes with a hat, I’m similar enough to fool people from a distance and we have been masquerading around town as the happy couple to be.”

“So, you haven’t thrown me over for a simpleton?” He glanced at Weston, “No offence.”

“None taken,” Weston assured him.

“Of course I haven't,” she said, “Wes is a lovely man but he’s no substitute for you.” She threw Weston an apologetic glance.

“Oh, quite right Phryne. Not even close,” Weston said pleasantly.

“And that bit… about being in love with me? Was that part of the case too?”

“Of course not,” said Phryne, rather indignantly. “I fail to see how that could have anything to do with anyone but us.”

“Right,” said Jack. The three of them stood in slightly less awkward silence.

Finally, Phryne spoke, “Would you like me to do that bit again?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack’s head was still spinning.

“The bit where I said I missed you, that I was in love with you and that I was going to kiss you. I’d like to try that bit again, if you don't mind.” She clarified.

Jack nodded.

A passing police officer stopped to speak with Weston. “Pardon, Monsieur,” he glanced meaningfully at the kissing couple, one of whom was clearly the man’s bride, “avez-vous besoin d'aide?”

“Oh, terribly sorry,” Weston apologised. “Merci, no. Nous réparions un… um…” he flapped his hands in the air dramatically, “un misunderstanding.”

“Ah,” said the policeman, tapping the side of his head. They were English, that explained everything. He moved on.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten here… naked… limbs entangled with hers… struggling to decide whether breathing really was more important than kissing her again. It wasn’t. Her skin was silky wherever he touched her, and he was trying very hard to touch her everywhere, preferably all at the same time. He had a sense that his technique left a lot to be desired but pretty much everything had been pushed aside by his overwhelming need to be convinced that it was him that she wanted.

Jack dragged his mouth away from hers, pushing gently on her shoulder to suggest she lie on her back. She obliged and his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck as his hand cupped her breast. She made a sound of pure delight when he flicked his thumb across her hardened nipple. She did it again as he sucked sharply on the flesh of her neck at exactly the same time as he repeated the action with his thumb. She wound her arm around him to hold his head against her skin, the other she raised above her head as she pushed her breast harder into his hand. 

Jack shuffled down her body, capturing her nipple in his mouth, alternating between sucking and laving it with his tongue. With his leg between hers he was intensely aware that she was open to him. He desperately wanted to touch her there but it seemed too much. His fingers beat a pattern on her hip. Was it really more intimate than lying here pressing his erection against her, running his tongue around and over her nipple? 

When his hand pressed firmly between her legs, she threw her head back and called his name. Jack allowed himself a small smile of triumph, it seemed all he had to do was find the edge of where he felt comfortable and... take a huge step over it. He pulsed his palm against her, enjoying the way she pushed against him. Propping himself up on one elbow, mouth still at her breast, tongue circling her nipple, he began to stroke his fingers between her legs. Her response was… extremely gratifying and he started to feel he might not be as bad at this as he had feared. 

Then Phryne pushed him forcibly onto his back, straddled his hips and left him in no doubt as to exactly how much she wanted him.

The next morning Jack awoke in a tangled mess of bed clothes. He smiled as he recalled their evening's activities, glancing across to see her lying on her stomach, hair dishevelled, eyes shut. He chuckled, a delicious low sound of happiness, “I can tell you’re awake.”

“How?” she demanded, without opening her eyes or changing her position.

“I just can,” he said.

She opened her eyes, “Good morning.” She gave him a shy smile.

He grinned back. “Morning.” There was a discreet knock at the door - he looked puzzled.

“Honeymoon suite,” she offered, “luckily for you Wes likes his food as much as you do. It’ll be a ridiculous pile of fried items - you’ll love it.”

“Great,” Jack said enthusiastically, jumping out of bed with an energy that made her wince. He headed to the door.

“Jack?” she called out.

“Yes?”

“You might want to put a robe on,” she suggested.

He gave her a slightly foolish grin, “Sorry, not used to waking up naked.”

“I’m not complaining, the view is wonderful,” she gave him a wink, “but we don't want to cause a riot. There's a robe in the bedroom through that door.”

That conveniently answered one of Jack’s never to be spoken questions. Wes, like the true gentleman he was, had offered the lovers the suite, insisting he could bunk in with one of his old school friends who was over for the wedding. Jack had attempted to decline the offer but Phryne overrode his protestations. “It’s my wedding night,” she had declared, “I may only get one and I intend to make the most of it.” Jack had laughed at her joke, even going so far as to carry her over the threshold when they made it to the room.

Jack grabbed the robe and hurried to the door - he had plans and sustenance was a necessity. The transaction took longer than he had anticipated for several reasons. Firstly, the waiter was clearly expecting another man to have opened the door, secondly, Jack had no money for a tip so had to scramble around trying to find his wallet and thirdly, it was possible that Weston had an appetite that was larger than even Jack’s. After due consideration, Jack chose to rearrange the choicest items onto a single tray.

He came back to find Phryne sitting up in bed with papers in her hands. “Hello, what’s up?” he enquired as he placed the breakfast tray on the bedside table, slipped off the robe and settled back into the bed beside her.

“I’m trying to sort out the damn paperwork the lawyer gave me for the divorce,” she muttered.

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean, you did actually marry him?”

She looked up, clearly worried. “I had to. The French police were not as accommodating as their Australian counterparts and refused to help us convince the appropriate authorities to let us use the church. In the end it seemed easier to provide them with the papers they so desperately desired. We went to Gibraltar for the legal part.”

“Well, that was very... thorough of you.” It appeared, in addition to all his others sins, he was now sleeping with a married woman. 

“Jack? What are you thinking?” she was obviously concerned.

He shrugged, “Nothing.” It was a technicality, Phryne belonged to no one but herself - never had, never would.

“You’re not having second thoughts?”

“Should I?” He tilted his head at her, “Do you anticipate a reconciliation?”

“Unlikely,” she laughed. “Wes is lovely but he’d drive me to murder within a week and then you’d have to arrest me. Oh... it just occurred to me… this won’t damage your reputation, will it?” 

He gave her a puzzled look. 

“Becoming involved with a divorcee?”

Jack smirked as he pressed in close to her, running his hand up her leg, “I’ll do my best to live with the social stigma.” He took the papers out of her hands, letting them fall to the ground. “But don't sign those just yet,” he covered her shoulder with gentle kisses, “this might be my only chance to have a torrid affair with another man’s wife.”


End file.
